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I glance toward the staircase.
“Upstairs?”
“Without me?”
“I was hoping you’d follow.”
His mouth curves.
“Careful what you wish for.”
I slide my hands up his chest, enjoying the solid warmth beneath his shirt.
“Is that a threat?”
“Promise.”
He kisses me.
Not the careful, restrained kisses we’ve shared over the past few days. This one is hungry and unapologetic, his hands settling at my waist as he backs me gently against the door.
I catch his lower lip between my teeth.
He makes a rough sound.
“Jesus, Autumn.”
“What?”
“You’re playing with fire.”
“You’re the one who bought a haunted mansion and started calling himself the Reaper.”
“Didn’t start calling myself that.”
“Details.”
He laughs against my mouth.
And that sound might be my favorite thing in the entire world.
I pull back just enough to look at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“You’re smiling.”
“Don’t tell anybody. Bad for business.”
I touch the scar near his temple.
He doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t turn away.
